The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Read online

  I can’t help grinning back. “Take good care of us, Saunders. You’re our front line of defence now!”

  He nods, and tries to look serious, but he can’t hide his proud smile. I notice his sketch of all of us in our armour, propped up on the table under the screens.

  The guard lets us out, and Will leads us up to the farmhouse, and round the side of the building to the barn. Dan and I carry the crates of armour and guns, and the rebels are all wearing their base layers under sweat pants and T-shirts. We select two to put on the armour, and time them getting ready. They’re not bad. There’s room for improvement, but they’re getting better.

  Will lines up a target at the far end of the barn, propped up on bales of straw. Dan demonstrates clipping in a magazine, taking the safety off, lining up the target, and firing. His bullet tears through the target, and the straw, and leaves a ragged hole in the wall of the barn. Will looks impressed.

  We rebuild the target with planks of wood and more bales of straw, and the trainees have their chance to try the guns. There’s a lot of work to do, but they’ve all got the basic idea. We need to work on their confidence with the weapon, and with their aim – but that’s just a matter of practice. I can see that, given enough time, we will be able to train them to hit the target quickly and cleanly almost every time.

  But after the session, Will sits us down in the farmhouse kitchen, while the trainees go back to the bunker.

  “You’ve got three days. Can you train them?”

  “Three days? Why?” I’m breathless. What does he mean?

  “We move in four.”

  “Move where?” Dan sounds as surprised as I am.

  “We’ve had intelligence. There’s a target we can hit. Three days. Can you do it?”

  I look at Dan, and he shakes his head.

  “No. No, we can’t. They need time to get used to the guns.” Will glares at Dan.

  “Wait,” I say, fighting rising anger. “Why do they have to use the guns? Why can’t we?”

  Will shakes his head. “We’re going after your RTS friends. You think you can hold guns to their heads?”

  I hesitate, but Dan answers quickly, “Yes. Yes, I do. Because most of them aren’t our friends.” He looks directly at Will, challenging him to disagree.

  I think about holding a gun to Ketty’s head. Or Jackson’s. Or Commander Bracken’s.

  “Yes. I think we can.”

  Will shakes his head. “We only get one shot at this. One chance to get what we need.”

  “And what’s that?”

  So Will explains his plan.

  Decision

  Training is intensive for three days. We work with the rebels morning and afternoon, giving them plenty of experience with hitting targets and handling the weapons. By the third day, all of them can unclip the gun, hit the target, and re-clip it most of the time. We have to be careful not to waste our bullets – we don’t have many to spare. For dedicated target practice, we switch to Will’s old-fashioned shotguns.

  On the third day, Will asks Dan and me to demonstrate our skills with the guns, and we prove that we can unclip, hit the target, and re-clip under pressure. He looks satisfied, and confirms that we’ll move out for our ambush in the morning.

  We have one task to complete before we wear this armour outside again. Will understands, and hunts through a box in the back of the barn until he finds what we need. Dan and I spend the hour before dinner with our armour pieces propped against the straw bales, spray painting every panel black, and erasing our names from the torso sections. When we’re done, the armour looks like the suits I saw in town, the clean-up crews working on the City Killers. There were no names on their armour – just anonymous black panels.

  “We’ve done it. We’ve disrespected our armour. We’ve disobeyed Batman’s number one rule!” Dan laughs, and kicks an empty paint canister across the barn floor.

  It might not be the first time we’ve stood up to Commander Bracken, but Dan’s right – this does feel important. As if we’ve admitted our treason, accepted our disobedience. It feels like the point from which we can’t go back.

  We spend the evening with Saunders, Charlie, Margie, and Dr Richards. After dinner, we gather at a table in the kitchen and talk about the plans for tomorrow. We know what we’re expected to do, and that our trainees will be helping us. I’m worried, but I think Will’s plan will probably work. We just can’t guarantee what the government response will be, or be completely sure that our intelligence is accurate.

  I head off early to get some sleep, and Charlie comes back to our room just as I’m getting into bed. She sits down on her bunk, opposite mine, and leans her elbows on her knees, shoulders hunched over, hands clasped together.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I sit down, too, our knees almost touching in the narrow room.

  “I’m sure. I think we have a good chance to hit them where it hurts, and get ourselves an advantage. I’m pretty happy with the guys we’ve been training. So … yeah. Why not?”

  She looks at me and shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I take a deep breath. “I know.”

  “Are you sure you want to be someone else’s front-line doll?”

  “It’s not like that,” I begin, but I know it is. Charlie looks at me, coldly.

  My shoulders slump. “OK. It is like that. But I think we can help. I think we can do this.”

  “You’re letting yourself be used again. You’re a kid, not a soldier –”

  “I’m a kid and a soldier.” I talk over her, forcing her to listen – because she’s wrong about this. “I was a kid when all this started, but I’ve seen things, and I’ve learnt things, and I’ve messed up. I can fight, and I can win. I can see what the government is doing, and I can understand that I want to fight back.”

  “So you’re doing this for yourself?” Charlie’s voice hasn’t softened. She’s angry with me, and she’s angry with Will.

  “Yes? No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I have the skills and the experience to help the rebels, and that’s what I want to do tomorrow. If I get to hurt the government, then even better. But this is what I want to do.”

  She bows her head, runs her hands through her hair, looks up at me.

  “OK. If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.” She puts her hand on my knee. “Be careful, Bex. Don’t let them use you. Don’t let them see you as disposable. Make sure you come back.”

  It’s as if she’s hit me. I haven’t thought about not coming back. Will has approved of our shooting skills and our training of the other rebels. We’ve got a target and a plan. I know what to do. I haven’t considered what could happen if something goes wrong. I’ve got my armour, my gun, and my training, and backup from Will and the others. I’ll be fine.

  But I can’t find anything to say to reassure her. I clasp her hand, and nod in agreement. She reaches over and puts her arms round my shoulders.

  “Be safe, Bex,” she whispers. She gives my shoulders a squeeze, then stands up and leaves the room, closing the door on her way out.

  Raid

  I’m lying, in my armour, in a ditch at the side of a narrow road. Dan is beside me, and so are two of the rebels we’ve been training. The other four are in the ditch opposite. Will is in one of the trucks, out of sight in the trees behind us. We’re waiting for his signal.

  We left the bunker early this morning, driving two pickup trucks, with two crates of armour in the back. We drove for an hour or so, then Will turned off the road into the woods, and the other truck followed. Dan and I changed into our armour while Will handed out guns and bullets to our trainees. He ran through the plan again, and sent us to get into position for the raid.

  It’s been raining, and there’s water in the ditch, threatening to flow over the tops of my boots. We’re leaning against the side of the ditch, our heads level with the road surface. The trees overhang the road here, so my view is blocked b
y a curtain of dripping leaves. Once again, I’m outside in the cold and wet in my armour. This time, I’m waiting for Will’s order to move.

  Dan and I have checked our radios, and tuned the channel to Will’s radio in the truck. With my helmet on I can hear my own breathing, and the faint gurgling of the water in the bottom of the ditch. And then, something else. I can hear the noise of an engine approaching. My heart begins to beat faster, and my muscles tense, waiting for Will’s signal. Dan tenses beside me, ready to run.

  “Go!” Shouts Will, the radio speaker loud in my ear, and we pull ourselves out of the ditch, duck under the branches and run to the middle of the road, guns sliding smoothly from their clips and pointed ahead, at the approaching vehicle.

  It’s a coach, like the one we used to travel to Birmingham. Coming round the corner in the road towards us, travelling quickly. We hold our ground as the driver sees us in the road, and registers the guns. He slams on the brakes, and the coach starts to skid on the wet surface.

  My heart is hammering in my chest as I try to stand still and calm in the path of the sliding vehicle. The back end starts to swing, and I’m watching in slow motion as the front of the coach starts to angle away, and the side turns towards us. We both take a step back as the coach slows and stops, brakes screaming, rear end hanging over the ditch. There’s a moment of stillness, and I see a line of shocked faces staring out of the windows at us.

  Recruits, in uniform. I make myself look away. I don’t want to see people I recognise.

  The engine cuts out, the coach shivering as it stops. In the sudden silence, Dan and I walk towards the luggage compartment. I aim at the locks on the compartment hatches, and each one pops open as the bullets hit. We drag the hatches all the way up, and start to unload the crates inside on to the roadway.

  Two more rebels jump out from the ditch behind us and take over, with two more acting as a human chain to get the crates as far away from the coach as possible on the road. Dan and I head round to the front of the coach, keeping our guns trained on the driver and the front-seat passengers. Dan stands in the road, gun aimed at the windscreen, while I step carefully round to the door. Two more of my trainees are already in position, rifles pointed into the coach.

  I have to remind myself that no one knows who I am. My name is no longer painted across the front of my chest, my helmet is on and my visor is down.

  “Talk to me!” Will’s voice on the radio.

  “We’re securing the coach now. The crates are being unloaded.” Dan sounds confident.

  “Just checking for anyone who wants to pick a fight. Oh – and Will? The coach is blocking the road. You’ll need to approach from the North.”

  “Good work.” And he’s gone.

  All we have to do is hold the coach here while the crates are unloaded, and transferred to the trucks. We need everyone to stay on board, and we don’t need anyone trying to be a hero. I keep my gun pointed at the door, and gesture to the trainees to go and help with the crates.

  I think we’re going to make it. I can hear the sound of an engine growing louder, and I’m hoping that’s Will and the other truck. The quicker the crates can be loaded the better, and then we can drive away and disappear.

  “Approaching now.” I can hear the two trucks as they swing round in the road, and the trainees shouting to each other as they load up the crates.

  I glance up at the windows, and I notice that the line of faces is gone. Someone is giving orders inside the coach, and the recruits have all ducked their heads down, or moved away from the windows, out of the line of fire.

  I take a breath to report this to Will, just as I hear a gunshot, and the sound of breaking glass. Dan makes a strange grunt over the radio and goes quiet. I want to move – I want to check on Dan, but I need to guard the door. My thoughts are racing, and as I’m deciding what to do next, the second door of the coach opens, halfway down the side where I’m standing. Someone leans round the edge of the doorway and points a handgun at me, and I freeze.

  I’m wearing armour. I can probably take a hit, but if I’m unlucky they’ll catch the base layer and the bullet will go right in. I’m splitting my attention between the front door and the gun, making an effort to take deep, steady breaths and clear my mind. The holder of the gun is keeping their head inside the coach for now, and the front door is closed. If I can avoid escalating the situation, we can still get away.

  I swing my gun so it is aimed at the second door, and take a step back, towards the front of the bus. I’m breathing steadily, willing everyone to stay calm. There’s no need to fire. We’re not trying to hurt you. We just want the armour.

  There’s a shout over the radio, and I jump in surprise. I try to focus on the coach in front of me, and the hand holding the gun. The driver, sitting with his hands held up in front of him.

  “What’s going on? Bex?”

  I try to speak, but I’m out of breath. I’m worried about Dan. I’m terrified that the person with the gun is going to do something stupid. I’m in control of the situation, and it’s up to me to keep everyone safe. I almost laugh – this is exactly what the camp was training us for. Don’t rely on your team – rely on yourself. Get yourself out of danger. Get yourself on camera. Get yourself seen.

  And I know what I have to do. They have to see me, and they have to see that we’re serious.

  “I’m handling it,” I say to the radio. “Just be ready to go. Dan?”

  “Bex. I’m OK. They’ve got a gun on me, and they’ve dented my armour, but I’m OK.”

  “Will! Get some guns pointed at the coach! I need to give them a reason to stop shooting.”

  “Done.” I can hear Will shouting at the trainees, distant, outside my helmet.

  I take two deep breaths, then step forward and fire bullet after bullet into the second doorway. The hand with the gun fires twice, wildly, missing me entirely and landing bullets in the trees next to the road. The shooter pulls the gun back, shelters in the stairwell of the coach, so I step closer, firing into the opening. There’s some shouting from inside, and the door closes.

  I step away and point my gun at the front door again.

  No one moves. There’s no sound from the radio. I step forward and bang my fist on the door, pointing to the driver’s console. The driver looks at me, and lifts his hands above his head. I point again, and, keeping his eyes on me, he reaches forward to unlock the door.

  The front door opens with a faint sigh. I push myself against the door frame, and aim my gun up into the aisle. There’s someone standing in line with the front seats, face in shadow, holding a gun like mine. Pointing it at Dan through the star-cracked front window. I risk a glance out of the front of the coach. Dan is standing on the road, hands in the air, gun above his head. There are two trucks pulled up behind him, loaded with crates, canvas tied down on top. And there are six trainees armed with Will’s rifles, all pointed this way.

  I try to talk to the people on the bus, but I realise that they can’t hear me through the helmet. There’s no loudspeaker in this armour – I’m only a front-line doll, after all – I’m not supposed to do any real fighting. I use one hand to crack open the visor, just enough for my voice to be heard.

  “Drop the gun!” The person looks at me in surprise, and I realise it’s Ketty. Will was right about our target.

  “Drop the gun!” I shout, much louder. She smirks, so I take aim at her chest and she quickly lets go of the rifle. It clatters to the floor next to her feet.

  “Kick it to me.” She kicks it down the steps, past the driver, a sour look on her face.

  I take another step up into the coach.

  “Sit down.” I wave the gun at her again, and she steps back and lowers herself into a seat. I climb up next to the driver, until I can see all the way down the aisle.

  The recruits are crouching, in the aisle and next to the seats, hands over their heads. One or two glance up at me, and I realise that I recognise their faces.

  “What are you do
ing?” Will’s voice over the radio.

  “Not now.” I keep my voice quiet – the radio will pick up a whisper if it needs to.

  “Get out here.”

  “Not yet. There’s something I need to do. Dan – can you cover the back door?”

  “On my way.”

  I haven’t heard the second door opening again, but I need someone standing guard.

  “Heads up! Back in your seats!” I shout, as loudly as I can. The recruits look at each other, but they don’t move. I wait a moment, and then raise the gun to the ceiling and fire one shot.

  “Do as they say!” Someone shouts from half way down the coach, and I know it’s Jackson. He must be the shooter at the back door.

  The recruits scramble to their feet and back into their seats. I’m watching them carefully, and I see Jake, keeping his head down and sliding into a seat close to the front. I take another step up, next to Ketty, and I point my gun at Jake.

  “You! On the ground.” He looks confused, then stands up out of his seat and lies down in the aisle. His face is white, and he’s shaking. I look around, but I can’t see any more faces. Everyone is hidden by the seats in front of them. I need to find Amy.

  I know this wasn’t part of the plan. I know we can drive away now if we want to. We have what we came for, and the trucks are ready to go. But this might be my last chance to rescue Jake and Amy. I need to find her, but I can’t afford to move any further into the coach.

  “Stand up!” I wave the gun, and the recruits slowly get to their feet, holding themselves up against the headrests. I look around, and I have another idea. I need to make this look like a hostage-taking.

  “You! And you!” I pick two recruits at random. “On the floor”. I’m running out of time. They step into the aisle and lie down. I still can’t see Amy.

  “Back row! All of you, in the aisle, now!” And there she is.

  “You! On the floor. The rest of you – back to your seats.”

  Four recruits on the floor. Jackson on the stairs to the second door. Dan outside, covering his escape.